Everyone, even the most serious person, not to mention, of course, boys, has his own secret and slightly funny dream. I also had such a dream - be sure to get to Borovoye Lake.
It was only twenty kilometers from the village where I lived that summer to the lake. Everyone tried to dissuade me from going - and the road was boring, and the lake was like a lake, all around there was only forest, dry swamps and lingonberries. Famous painting!
- Why are you rushing there, to this lake! the garden watchman Semyon was angry. - What didn't you see? What a fussy, grasping people went, Lord! Everything he needs, you see, to snatch with his hand, to look out with his own eye! What will you see there? One reservoir. And nothing more!
— Have you been there?
- And why did he surrender to me, this lake! I don't have anything else to do, do I? That's where they sit, all my business! Semyon tapped his brown neck with his fist. - On the hump!
But I still went to the lake. Two village boys followed me, Lenka and Vanya. Before we had time to go beyond the outskirts, the complete hostility of the characters of Lenka and Vanya was immediately revealed. Lyonka estimated everything that he saw around in rubles.
“Here, look,” he said to me in his booming voice, “the gander is coming.” How much do you think he pulls?
- How do I know!
- Rubles for a hundred, perhaps, it pulls, - Lenka said dreamily and immediately asked: - But how much will this pine tree pull? Rubles for two hundred? Or all three hundred?
— Accountant! Vanya remarked contemptuously and sniffled. - At the very brains of a dime are pulled, but he asks the price of everything. My eyes would not look at him.
After that, Lenka and Vanya stopped, and I heard a well-known conversation - a harbinger of a fight. It consisted, as is customary, of only questions and exclamations.
- Whose brains are they pulling on a dime? My?
- Probably not mine!
— You look!
— See for yourself!
- Don't grab it! They did not sew a cap for you!
“Oh, how I wouldn’t push you in my own way!”
- Don't be scared! Don't poke me in the nose!
The fight was short, but decisive, Lenka picked up his cap, spat and went, offended, back to the village.
I began to shame Vanya.
- Of course! Vanya said, embarrassed. - I got into a heated fight. Everyone is fighting with him, with Lenka. He's kinda boring! Give him free rein, he hangs on all prices, as in a general store. For every spike. And he will certainly bring down the whole forest, chop it for firewood. And I am most afraid of everything in the world when they bring down the forest. Passion as I fear!
- Why so?
— Oxygen from forests. Forests will be cut down, oxygen will become liquid, rotten. And the earth will no longer be able to attract him, to keep him near him. He will fly away to where he is! Vanya pointed to the fresh morning sky. - There will be nothing for a person to breathe. The forester explained to me.
We climbed the izvolok and entered the oak copse. Immediately, red ants began to seize us. They clung to the legs and fell from the branches by the scruff of the neck. Dozens of ant roads strewn with sand stretched between oaks and junipers. Sometimes such a road passed, as if through a tunnel, under the knotty roots of an oak tree and again rose to the surface. Ant traffic on these roads was continuous. In one direction, the ants ran empty, and returned with the goods - white grains, dry beetle legs, dead wasps and hairy caterpillars.
- Bustle! Vanya said. — Like in Moscow. An old man from Moscow comes to this forest for ant eggs. Every year. Takes away in bags. This is the most bird food. And they are good for fishing. The hook needs to be tiny-tiddly!
Behind the oak copse, on the edge, at the edge of the loose sandy road, stood a rickety cross with a black tin icon. Red, flecked with white, ladybugs crawled along the cross. A gentle wind blew in your face from the oat fields. Oats rustled, bent, a gray wave ran over them.
Behind the oat field we passed through the village of Polkovo. I noticed a long time ago that almost all regimental peasants differ from the neighboring inhabitants by their high growth.
- Stately people in Polkovo! our Zaborevskys said with envy. — Grenadiers! Drummers!
In Polkovo, we went to rest in the hut of Vasily Lyalin, a tall, handsome old man with a piebald beard. Gray tufts stuck out in disorder in his black shaggy hair.
When we entered the hut to Lyalin, he shouted:
- Keep your heads down! Heads! All of my forehead on the lintel smash! It hurts in Polkovo tall people, but slow-witted - the huts are put on a short stature.
During the conversation with Lyalin, I finally found out why the regimental peasants were so tall.
- Story! Lyalin said. "Do you think we've gone up in the air for nothing?" In vain, even the Kuzka-bug does not live. It also has its purpose.
Vanya laughed.
- You're laughing! Lyalin observed sternly. - Still not enough learned to laugh. You listen. Was there such a foolish tsar in Russia - Emperor Pavel? Or was not?
“I was,” Vanya said. - We studied.
— Yes, he swam. And he made such business that we still hiccup. The gentleman was fierce. A soldier at the parade squinted his eyes in the wrong direction - he is now inflamed and begins to thunder: “To Siberia! To hard labor! Three hundred ramrods!” That's what the king was like! Well, such a thing happened - the grenadier regiment did not please him. He shouts: “Step march in the indicated direction for a thousand miles! Campaign! And after a thousand versts to stand forever! And he shows the direction with his finger. Well, the regiment, of course, turned and marched. What will you do! We walked and walked for three months and reached this place. Around the forest is impassable. One hell. They stopped, began to cut huts, knead clay, lay stoves, dig wells. They built a village and called it Polkovo, as a sign that a whole regiment built it and lived in it. Then, of course, liberation came, and the soldiers settled down to this area, and, read it, everyone stayed here. The area, you see, is fertile. There were those soldiers - grenadiers and giants - our ancestors. From them and our growth. If you don't believe me, go to the city, to the museum. They will show you the papers. Everything is written in them. And just think, if they had to walk another two versts and come out to the river, they would have stopped there. So no, they did not dare to disobey the order - they just stopped. People are still surprised. “What are you, they say, regimental, staring into the forest? Didn't you have a place by the river? Terrible, they say, tall, but guesswork in the head, you see, is not enough. Well, explain to them how it was, then they agree. “Against the order, they say, you can’t trample! It is a fact!"
Vasily Lyalin volunteered to accompany us to the forest, show the path to Borovoye Lake. First we passed through a sandy field overgrown with immortelle and wormwood. Then thickets of young pines ran out to meet us. The pine forest met us after the hot fields with silence and coolness. High in the sun's slanting rays, blue jays fluttered as if on fire. Clean puddles stood on the overgrown road, and clouds floated through these blue puddles. It smelled of strawberries, heated stumps. Drops of dew, or yesterday's rain, glittered on the hazel leaves. The cones were falling.
- Great forest! Lyalin sighed. - The wind will blow, and these pines will hum like bells.
Then the pines gave way to birches, and behind them the water glistened.
— Borovoye? I asked.
- No. Before Borovoye still walk and walk. This is Larino Lake. Let's go, look into the water, look.
The water in Larino Lake was deep and clear to the very bottom. Only near the shore did she tremble a little - there, from under the mosses, a spring poured into the lake. At the bottom lay several dark large trunks. They gleamed with a faint, dark fire as the sun reached them.
“Black oak,” said Lyalin. - Seared, age-old. We pulled one out, but it's hard to work with it. The saw breaks. But if you make a thing - a rolling pin or, say, a rocker - so forever! Heavy wood, sinks in water.
The sun shone in the dark water. Beneath it lay ancient oaks, as if cast from black steel. And above the water, reflected in it with yellow and purple petals, butterflies flew.
Lyalin led us to a deaf road.
“Go straight ahead,” he pointed out, “until you run into msharas, into a dry swamp.” And the path will go along the msharams to the very lake. Just go carefully - there are a lot of pegs.
He said goodbye and left. We went with Vanya along the forest road. The forest grew taller, more mysterious and darker. Gold resin froze in streams on the pines.
At first, the ruts, long overgrown with grass, were still visible, but then they disappeared, and the pink heather covered the whole road with a dry, cheerful carpet.
The road led us to a low cliff. Beneath it lay msharas—dense and root-warmed birch and aspen undergrowth. Trees sprouted from deep moss. Small yellow flowers were scattered here and there over the moss, and dry branches with white lichen were lying about.
A narrow path led through the mshary. She walked around high bumps. At the end of the trail, the water shone with a black blue—Borovoye Lake.
We cautiously walked along the msharams. Pegs, sharp as spears, stuck out from under the moss, the remains of birch and aspen trunks. The lingonberry bushes have begun. One cheek of each berry - the one that turned to the south - was completely red, and the other was just beginning to turn pink. A heavy capercaillie jumped out from behind a hummock and ran into the undergrowth, breaking dry wood.
We went to the lake. Grass rose above the waist along its banks. Water splashed in the roots of old trees. A wild duck jumped out from under the roots and ran across the water with a desperate squeak.
The water in Borovoye was black and clean. Islands of white lilies bloomed on the water and smelled sickly. The fish struck and the lilies swayed.
- That's a blessing! Vanya said. Let's live here until our crackers run out.
I agreed. We stayed at the lake for two days. We saw sunsets and twilight and the tangle of plants that appeared before us in the firelight. We heard the calls of wild geese and the sound of night rain. He did not walk for long, about an hour, and tinkled softly across the lake, as if stretching thin, like cobweb, trembling strings between the black sky and the water.
That's all I wanted to tell. But since then, I will not believe anyone that there are places on our earth that are boring and do not give any food to either the eye, or hearing, or imagination, or human thought.
Only in this way, by exploring some piece of our country, can one understand how good it is and how we are attached in our hearts to each of its paths, springs, and even to the timid squeaking of a forest bird.
Collection of miracles
Everyone, even the most serious person, not to mention, of course, boys, has his own secret and slightly funny dream. I also had such a dream - be sure to get to Borovoye Lake.
It was only twenty kilometers from the village where I lived that summer to the lake. Everyone tried to dissuade me from going - and the road was boring, and the lake was like a lake, all around there was only forest, dry swamps and lingonberries. Famous painting!
Why are you rushing there, to this lake! - the garden watchman Semyon was angry. - What didn't you see? What a fussy, grasping people went, Lord! Everything he needs, you see, to snatch with his hand, to look out with his own eye! What will you see there? One reservoir. And nothing more!
Have you been there?
And why did he surrender to me, this lake! I don't have anything else to do, do I? That's where they sit, all my business! Semyon tapped his brown neck with his fist. - On the hump!
But I still went to the lake. Two village boys followed me, Lenka and Vanya. Before we had time to go beyond the outskirts, the complete hostility of the characters of Lenka and Vanya was immediately revealed. Lyonka estimated everything that he saw around in rubles.
Here, look, - he said to me in his booming voice, - the gander is coming. How much do you think he pulls?
How do I know!
Rubles for a hundred, perhaps, pulls, - Lenka said dreamily and immediately asked: - But how much will this pine tree pull? Rubles for two hundred? Or all three hundred?
Accountant! Vanya remarked contemptuously and sniffled. - At the most brains on a dime pull, and to everything asks the price. My eyes would not look at him.
After that, Lenka and Vanya stopped, and I heard a well-known conversation - a harbinger of a fight. It consisted, as is customary, of only questions and exclamations.
Whose brains are pulling a dime? My?
Probably not mine!
You look!
See for yourself!
Don't grab! They did not sew a cap for you!
Oh, how I would not push you in my own way!
And don't be scared! Don't poke me in the nose!
The fight was short, but decisive, Lenka picked up his cap, spat and went, offended, back to the village.
I began to shame Vanya.
Of course! - Vanya said, embarrassed. - I got into a heated fight. Everyone is fighting with him, with Lenka. He's kinda boring! Give him free rein, he hangs on all prices, as in a general store. For every spike. And he will certainly bring down the whole forest, chop it for firewood. And I am most afraid of everything in the world when they bring down the forest. Passion as I fear!
Why so?
Oxygen from forests. Forests will be cut down, oxygen will become liquid, rotten. And the earth will no longer be able to attract him, to keep him near him. He will fly away to where he is! - Vanya pointed to the fresh morning sky. - There will be nothing for a person to breathe. The forester explained to me.
We climbed the izvolok and entered the oak copse. Immediately, red ants began to seize us. They clung to the legs and fell from the branches by the scruff of the neck. Dozens of ant roads strewn with sand stretched between oaks and junipers. Sometimes such a road passed, as if through a tunnel, under the knotty roots of an oak tree and again rose to the surface. Ant traffic on these roads was continuous. In one direction, the ants ran empty, and returned with the goods - white grains, dry paws of beetles, dead wasps and hairy caterpillars.
Bustle! Vanya said. - Like in Moscow. An old man from Moscow comes to this forest for ant eggs. Every year. Takes away in bags. This is the most bird food. And they are good for fishing. The hook needs to be tiny-tiddly!
Behind the oak copse, on the edge, at the edge of the loose sandy road, stood a rickety cross with a black tin icon. Red, flecked with white, ladybugs crawled along the cross. A gentle wind blew in your face from the oat fields. Oats rustled, bent, a gray wave ran over them.
Behind the oat field we passed through the village of Polkovo. I noticed a long time ago that almost all regimental peasants differ from the neighboring inhabitants by their high growth.
Stately people in Polkovo! - our Zaborevskys said with envy. - Grenadiers! Drummers!
In Polkovo, we went to rest in the hut of Vasily Lyalin, a tall, handsome old man with a piebald beard. Gray tufts stuck out in disorder in his black shaggy hair.
When we entered the hut to Lyalin, he shouted:
Lower your heads! Heads! All of my forehead on the lintel smash! It hurts in Polkovo tall people, but they are slow-witted - they put the huts according to short stature.
During the conversation with Lyalin, I finally found out why the regimental peasants were so tall.
Story! Lyalin said. - Do you think we've gone up in vain? In vain, even the Kuzka-bug does not live. It also has its purpose.
Vanya laughed.
You're laughing! Lyalin noted sternly. - Still a little learned to laugh. You listen. Was there such a foolish tsar in Russia - Emperor Pavel? Or was not?
Was, - said Vanya. - We studied.
Was yes swam. And he made such business that we still hiccup. The gentleman was fierce. The soldier at the parade squinted his eyes in the wrong direction - he is now inflamed and begins to thunder: “To Siberia! To hard labor! Three hundred ramrods!” That's what the king was like! Well, such a thing happened - the grenadier regiment did not please him. He shouts: “Step march in the indicated direction for a thousand miles! Campaign! And after a thousand versts to stand forever! And he shows the direction with his finger. Well, the regiment, of course, turned and marched. What will you do! We walked and walked for three months and reached this place. Around the forest is impassable. One hell. They stopped, began to cut huts, knead clay, lay stoves, dig wells. They built a village and called it Polkovo, as a sign that a whole regiment built it and lived in it. Then, of course, liberation came, and the soldiers settled down to this area, and, read it, everyone stayed here. The area, you see, is fertile. There were those soldiers - grenadiers and giants - our ancestors. From them and our growth. If you don't believe me, go to the city, to the museum. They will show you the papers. Everything is written in them. And you think - if they had to walk two more versts and come out to the river, they would have stopped there. So no, they did not dare to disobey the order - they just stopped. People are still surprised. “What are you, they say, regimental, staring into the forest? Didn't you have a place by the river? Terrible, they say, tall, but guesswork in the head, you see, is not enough. Well, explain to them how it was, then they agree. “Against the order, they say, you can’t trample! It is a fact!"
Vasily Lyalin volunteered to accompany us to the forest, show the path to Borovoye Lake. First we passed through a sandy field overgrown with immortelle and wormwood. Then thickets of young pines ran out to meet us. The pine forest met us after the hot fields with silence and coolness. High in the sun's slanting rays, blue jays fluttered as if on fire. Clean puddles stood on the overgrown road, and clouds floated through these blue puddles. It smelled of strawberries, heated stumps. Drops of dew, or yesterday's rain, glittered on the hazel leaves. The cones were falling.
Great forest! Lyalin sighed. - The wind will blow, and these pines will hum like bells.
Then the pines gave way to birches, and behind them the water glistened.
Borovoye? I asked.
No. Before Borovoye still walk and walk. This is Larino Lake. Let's go, look into the water, look.
The water in Larino Lake was deep and clear to the very bottom. Only at the shore she trembled a little - there, from under the mosses, a spring poured into the lake. At the bottom lay several dark large trunks. They gleamed with a faint, dark fire as the sun reached them.
Black oak, - said Lyalin. - Seared, age-old. We pulled one out, but it's hard to work with it. The saw breaks. But if you make a thing - a rolling pin or, say, a rocker - so forever! Heavy wood, sinks in water.
The sun shone in the dark water. Beneath it lay ancient oaks, as if cast from black steel. And above the water, reflected in it with yellow and purple petals, butterflies flew.
Lyalin led us to a deaf road.
Go straight ahead, - he showed, - until you run into mshharas, into a dry swamp. And the path will go along the msharams to the very lake. Just go carefully - there are a lot of pegs.
He said goodbye and left. We went with Vanya along the forest road. The forest grew taller, more mysterious and darker. Gold resin froze in streams on the pines.
At first, the ruts, long overgrown with grass, were still visible, but then they disappeared, and the pink heather covered the whole road with a dry, cheerful carpet.
The road led us to a low cliff. Mshars spread out under it - dense birch and aspen low forests warmed to the roots. Trees sprouted from deep moss. Small yellow flowers were scattered here and there over the moss, and dry branches with white lichen were lying about.
A narrow path led through the mshary. She walked around high bumps. At the end of the path, the water shone with a black blue - Borovoye Lake.
We cautiously walked along the msharams. Pegs, sharp as spears, were sticking out from under the moss - the remains of birch and aspen trunks. The lingonberry bushes have begun. One cheek of each berry - the one that turned to the south - was completely red, and the other was just beginning to turn pink. A heavy capercaillie jumped out from behind a hummock and ran into the undergrowth, breaking dry wood.
We went to the lake. Grass rose above the waist along its banks. Water splashed in the roots of old trees. A wild duck jumped out from under the roots and ran across the water with a desperate squeak.
The water in Borovoye was black and clean. Islands of white lilies bloomed on the water and smelled sickly. The fish struck and the lilies swayed.
Here is grace! Vanya said. - Let's live here until our crackers run out.
I agreed. We stayed at the lake for two days. We saw sunsets and twilight and the tangle of plants that appeared before us in the firelight. We heard the calls of wild geese and the sound of night rain. He did not walk for long, about an hour, and tinkled softly across the lake, as if stretching thin, like cobweb, trembling strings between the black sky and the water.
That's all I wanted to tell. But since then, I will not believe anyone that there are places on our earth that are boring and do not give any food to either the eye, or hearing, or imagination, or human thought.
Only in this way, by exploring some piece of our country, can one understand how good it is and how we are attached in our hearts to each of its paths, springs, and even to the timid squeaking of a forest bird.
Notes
Paustovsky Gift for the reader's diary
The work tells how the boy gave the author a birch tree. The boy knew that the author was very longing for the passing summer. He hoped that the birch tree could be planted at home. There, she would have pleased the author with her green foliage and would have reminded her of summer.
The story teaches its readers about kindness, as well as the need to help people around. Especially if a person is sad or experiences misfortune, then it is necessary to support him.
Summary Paustovsky Gift
The author was very sad because of the outgoing summer. Then the boy gave him a gift - a birch. He thought that the author would plant her in his own house. The birch was supposed to grow and delight the author with its green foliage all year round. But as soon as autumn began, the tree began to change its bright green cover. The leaves began to turn yellow little by little, and then completely fall off. Everyone around was very surprised by this, because the tree grew in the house, and not on the street.
Later, the neighbor's grandfather came and explained everything. He said that the tree had lost its leaves because he was ashamed in front of all his friends. After all, the whole birch cold winter I had to spend in warmth and comfort, and her friends - on the street, where it was frosty. Many people need to take an example from this very birch.
Picture or drawing Gift
Pechorin is a very mysterious person, who can be impetuous and coldly prudent. But it is far from simple, but in this case - in Taman, he was circled around his finger. It is there that Pechorin stops one old woman in the house
A pig, under a huge oak tree, which is more than one hundred years old, ate plenty of acorns. After such a good and hearty dinner, she collapsed to sleep, right under the same tree.
The Savin family lives in Moscow in an old apartment. Mother - Claudia Vasilievna, Fedor - the eldest son, defended his candidate, got married.
The main character of the novel is Fyodor Ivanovich Dezhkin. He comes to the city in order to check the work of the department staff with his colleague Vasily Stepanovich Tsvyakh. They were also ordered to check information about the illegal and prohibited activities of students.
Summary of Paustovsky Collection of miracles for the reader's diary
In the story of K.G. Paustovsky, the hero sets off on a journey to Lake Borovoe together with the village boy Vanya, a zealous defender of the forest. Their path lies through the field and the village of Polkovo with surprisingly tall peasants, grenadiers, through a mossy forest, through a swamp and pegs. Locals do not see anything special in this lake and dissuade from going to it, they are used to local boring places and do not see any miracles in them.
Only those who are truly attached to its beauty and see the beauty in every corner of their country can see the wonders of nature. The old secret boyish dream of our hero is coming true - to get to Borovoye Lake.
Paustovsky. Brief contents of works
Picture or drawing Collection of wonders
Other retellings for the reader's diary
The opera that tells about Simon Boccanegra has a prologue and three acts. Main character Plebeian and Doge of Genoa. The plot takes place in Genoa, in a house that belongs to Grimaldi. As part of common history now 14th century.
The story of the Thieving Magpie begins with a conversation between three young people about the theater and the role of women in it. But it only seems that they are talking about the theater, in fact, they are talking about traditions, women and family patterns in different countries.
The hero of the story, the boy Yura, was five years old at that time. He lived in the countryside. Once, Yura and his mother went to the forest to pick berries. At that time it was time for strawberries.
Summary of Paustovsky's works
Watercolor paints
badger nose
white rainbow
prime bear
yellow light
Residents of the old house
caring flower
hare paws
Golden Rose
golden tench
Isaac Levitan
Lump sugar
Basket with fir cones
thief cat
Meshcherskaya side
Tale of life
Farewell to summer
River floods
disheveled sparrow
The birth of a story
Squeaky floorboards
Collection of miracles
steel ring
old cook
Telegram
Warm bread
Summary of Paustovsky's stories
The work of Konstantin Georgievich Paustovsky is remarkable in that it incorporates a large number of life experience, which the writer diligently accumulated over the years, traveling and covering various fields of activity.
The first works of Paustovsky, which were written by him while still studying at the gymnasium, were published in various magazines.
"Romantics" is the first novel of the writer, the work on which lasted for a long 7 years. According to Paustovsky himself, feature his prose was precisely a romantic orientation.
The real fame of Konstantin Georgievich was brought by the story "Kara-Bugaz", published in 1932. The success of the work was stunning, which the author himself did not even know for some time. It was this work, as critics believed, that allowed Paustovsky to become one of the leading Soviet writers that time.
However, Paustovsky considered his main work to be the autobiographical Tale of Life, which includes six books, each of which is associated with a certain stage in the author's life.
An important place in the writer's bibliography is also occupied by fairy tales and stories written for children. Each of the works teaches that kind and bright, which is so necessary for a person in adulthood.
Paustovsky's contribution to literature can hardly be overestimated, because he wrote not only for people, but also about people: artists and painters, poets and writers. We can safely say that this talented person left behind a rich literary heritage.
Paustovsky's stories
Read online. Alphabetical list with summary and illustrations
warm bread
Summary of "Warm Bread":
Once, cavalrymen passed through the village and left a black horse wounded in the leg. Melnik Pankrat cured the horse, and he began to help him. But it was hard for the miller to feed the horse, so the horse sometimes went to the village houses, where he was treated to some tops, some bread, and some sweet carrots.
The boy Filka lived in the village, nicknamed “Well, you,” because it was his favorite expression. One day the horse came to Filka's house, hoping that the boy would give him something to eat. But Filka came out of the gate and threw bread into the snow, shouting curses. This offended the horse very much, he reared up and at the same moment a strong snowstorm began. Filka barely found his way to the door of the house.
And at home, the grandmother, crying, told him what was waiting for them now. starvation, because the river that turned the mill wheel has frozen and now it will not be possible to make flour from grain to bake bread. And the stocks of flour in the whole village remained for 2-3 days. Another grandmother told Filka a story that something similar had already happened in their village about 100 years ago. Then one greedy man took pity on bread for a disabled soldier and threw him a moldy crust on the ground, although it was hard for the soldier to bend down - he had a wooden leg.
Filka was frightened, but the grandmother said that the miller Pankrat knows how a greedy person can correct his mistake. At night, Filka ran to the miller Pankrat and told him how he offended the horse. Pankrat said that her mistake could be corrected and gave Filka 1 hour and 15 minutes to figure out how to save the village from the cold. Forty, who lived at Pankrat's, overheard everything, then got out of the house and flew south.
Filka came up with the idea of asking all the boys in the village to help him break the ice on the river with crowbars and shovels. And the next morning the whole village came out to fight the elements. Fires were kindled, ice was broken with crowbars, axes and shovels. By afternoon, a warm south wind blew from the south. And in the evening the guys broke through the ice and the river rushed into the mill flume, turning the wheel and millstones. The mill began to grind flour, and the women filled sacks with it.
By evening, the magpie returned and began to tell everyone that she flew south and asked the south wind to spare the people and help them melt the ice. But no one believed her. That evening, the women kneaded sweet dough and baked fresh warm breads, the smell of bread was so strong throughout the village that all the foxes got out of their holes and thought how they could get at least a piece of warm bread.
And in the morning Filka took warm bread, other guys and went to the mill to treat the horse and apologize to him for his greed. Pankrat released the horse, but at first he did not eat bread from Filka's hands. Then Pankrat talked to the horse and asked him to forgive Filka. The horse listened to his master and ate the whole loaf of warm bread, and then laid his head on Filka's shoulder. Everyone immediately began to rejoice and have fun that warm bread reconciled Filka and the horse.
In the story of K.G. Paustovsky, the hero sets off on a journey to Lake Borovoe together with the village boy Vanya, a zealous defender of the forest. Their path lies through the field and the village of Polkovo with surprisingly tall peasants, grenadiers, through a mossy forest, through a swamp and pegs. Locals do not see anything special in this lake and dissuade from going to it, they are used to local boring places and do not see any miracles in them.
Only those who are truly attached to its beauty and see the beauty in every corner of their country can see the wonders of nature. An old secret boyish dream of our hero is coming true - to get to Borovoye Lake.
Picture or drawing Collection of wonders
Other retellings and reviews for the reader's diary
- Summary of Death on the Nile Christie
And again, Hercule Poirot is a magnificent detective, the hero of Agatha Christie's novels from the "Eastern" cycle. This time, the detective finds himself on the steamer Karnak, sailing along the Nile River with careless and noisy passengers.
- Summary The Tale of Ivan Tsarevich and the Gray Wolf Zhukovsky
In Demyan Danilovich's green garden grew a beautiful apple tree. And suddenly, at one fine time, he began to notice that there were much fewer apples on the tree. He called his sons and ordered them to take turns guarding the garden.
- Summary My Lieutenant Granin
The work was created for those people who want to see the plot of the Great Patriotic War with victory and patriotism. The author opens and shows us the war from the inside
- Summary Sholokhov Food Commissioner
The earth is round, you never know where you will find and where you will lose. Bodyagin is a man who has experienced a lot in his life. He was still a boy, a teenager, when he was driven out of the house by his father. Everything happened so quickly
- Summary Monday begins on Saturday Strugatsky brothers
At the entrances to Solovets, Alexander Privalov, a mathematics programmer from Leningrad, meets two travelers who introduce themselves as employees of a mysterious scientific institution under the abbreviation NIICHAVO, which they themselves decipher as
Everyone, even the most serious person, not to mention, of course, boys, has his own secret and slightly funny dream. I also had such a dream - be sure to get to Borovoye Lake.
It was only twenty kilometers from the village where I lived that summer to the lake. Everyone tried to dissuade me from going - and the road was boring, and the lake was like a lake, all around there was only forest, dry swamps and lingonberries. Famous painting!
- Why are you rushing there, to this lake! the garden watchman Semyon was angry. - What didn't you see? What a fussy, grasping people went, Lord! Everything he needs, you see, to snatch with his hand, to look out with his own eye! What will you see there? One reservoir. And nothing more!
— Have you been there?
- And why did he surrender to me, this lake! I don't have anything else to do, do I? That's where they sit, all my business! Semyon tapped his brown neck with his fist. - On the hump!
But I still went to the lake. Two village boys followed me, Lenka and Vanya. Before we had time to go beyond the outskirts, the complete hostility of the characters of Lenka and Vanya was immediately revealed. Lyonka estimated everything that he saw around in rubles.
“Here, look,” he said to me in his booming voice, “the gander is coming.” How much do you think he pulls?
- How do I know!
- Rubles for a hundred, perhaps, it pulls, - Lenka said dreamily and immediately asked: - But how much will this pine tree pull? Rubles for two hundred? Or all three hundred?
— Accountant! Vanya remarked contemptuously and sniffled. - At the very brains of a dime are pulled, but he asks the price of everything. My eyes would not look at him.
After that, Lenka and Vanya stopped, and I heard a well-known conversation - a harbinger of a fight. It consisted, as is customary, of only questions and exclamations.
- Whose brains are they pulling on a dime? My?
- Probably not mine!
— You look!
— See for yourself!
- Don't grab it! They did not sew a cap for you!
“Oh, how I wouldn’t push you in my own way!”
- Don't be scared! Don't poke me in the nose!
The fight was short, but decisive, Lenka picked up his cap, spat and went, offended, back to the village.
I began to shame Vanya.
- Of course! Vanya said, embarrassed. - I got into a heated fight. Everyone is fighting with him, with Lenka. He's kinda boring! Give him free rein, he hangs on all prices, as in a general store. For every spike. And he will certainly bring down the whole forest, chop it for firewood. And I am most afraid of everything in the world when they bring down the forest. Passion as I fear!
- Why so?
— Oxygen from forests. Forests will be cut down, oxygen will become liquid, rotten. And the earth will no longer be able to attract him, to keep him near him. He will fly away to where he is! Vanya pointed to the fresh morning sky. - There will be nothing for a person to breathe. The forester explained to me.
We climbed the izvolok and entered the oak copse. Immediately, red ants began to seize us. They clung to the legs and fell from the branches by the scruff of the neck. Dozens of ant roads strewn with sand stretched between oaks and junipers. Sometimes such a road passed, as if through a tunnel, under the knotty roots of an oak tree and again rose to the surface. Ant traffic on these roads was continuous. In one direction, the ants ran empty, and returned with the goods - white grains, dry beetle legs, dead wasps and hairy caterpillars.
- Bustle! Vanya said. — Like in Moscow. An old man from Moscow comes to this forest for ant eggs. Every year. Takes away in bags. This is the most bird food. And they are good for fishing. The hook needs to be tiny-tiddly!
Behind the oak copse, on the edge, at the edge of the loose sandy road, stood a rickety cross with a black tin icon. Red, flecked with white, ladybugs crawled along the cross. A gentle wind blew in your face from the oat fields. Oats rustled, bent, a gray wave ran over them.
Behind the oat field we passed through the village of Polkovo. I noticed a long time ago that almost all regimental peasants differ from the neighboring inhabitants by their high growth.
- Stately people in Polkovo! our Zaborevskys said with envy. — Grenadiers! Drummers!
In Polkovo, we went to rest in the hut of Vasily Lyalin, a tall, handsome old man with a piebald beard. Gray tufts stuck out in disorder in his black shaggy hair.
When we entered the hut to Lyalin, he shouted:
- Keep your heads down! Heads! All of my forehead on the lintel smash! It hurts in Polkovo tall people, but slow-witted - the huts are put on a short stature.
During the conversation with Lyalin, I finally found out why the regimental peasants were so tall.
- Story! Lyalin said. "Do you think we've gone up in the air for nothing?" In vain, even the Kuzka-bug does not live. It also has its purpose.
Vanya laughed.
- You're laughing! Lyalin observed sternly. - Still not enough learned to laugh. You listen. Was there such a foolish tsar in Russia - Emperor Pavel? Or was not?
“I was,” Vanya said. - We studied.
— Yes, he swam. And he made such business that we still hiccup. The gentleman was fierce. A soldier at the parade squinted his eyes in the wrong direction - he is now inflamed and begins to thunder: “To Siberia! To hard labor! Three hundred ramrods!” That's what the king was like! Well, such a thing happened - the grenadier regiment did not please him. He shouts: “Step march in the indicated direction for a thousand miles! Campaign! And after a thousand versts to stand forever! And he shows the direction with his finger. Well, the regiment, of course, turned and marched. What will you do! We walked and walked for three months and reached this place. Around the forest is impassable. One hell. They stopped, began to cut huts, knead clay, lay stoves, dig wells. They built a village and called it Polkovo, as a sign that a whole regiment built it and lived in it. Then, of course, liberation came, and the soldiers settled down to this area, and, read it, everyone stayed here. The area, you see, is fertile. There were those soldiers - grenadiers and giants - our ancestors. From them and our growth. If you don't believe me, go to the city, to the museum. They will show you the papers. Everything is written in them. And just think, if they had to walk another two versts and come out to the river, they would have stopped there. So no, they did not dare to disobey the order - they just stopped. People are still surprised. “What are you, they say, regimental, staring into the forest? Didn't you have a place by the river? Terrible, they say, tall, but guesswork in the head, you see, is not enough. Well, explain to them how it was, then they agree. “Against the order, they say, you can’t trample! It is a fact!"
Vasily Lyalin volunteered to accompany us to the forest, show the path to Borovoye Lake. First we passed through a sandy field overgrown with immortelle and wormwood. Then thickets of young pines ran out to meet us. The pine forest met us after the hot fields with silence and coolness. High in the sun's slanting rays, blue jays fluttered as if on fire. Clean puddles stood on the overgrown road, and clouds floated through these blue puddles. It smelled of strawberries, heated stumps. Drops of dew, or yesterday's rain, glittered on the hazel leaves. The cones were falling.
- Great forest! Lyalin sighed. - The wind will blow, and these pines will hum like bells.
Then the pines gave way to birches, and behind them the water glistened.
— Borovoye? I asked.
- No. Before Borovoye still walk and walk. This is Larino Lake. Let's go, look into the water, look.
The water in Larino Lake was deep and clear to the very bottom. Only near the shore did she tremble a little - there, from under the mosses, a spring poured into the lake. At the bottom lay several dark large trunks. They gleamed with a faint, dark fire as the sun reached them.
“Black oak,” said Lyalin. - Seared, age-old. We pulled one out, but it's hard to work with it. The saw breaks. But if you make a thing - a rolling pin or, say, a rocker - so forever! Heavy wood, sinks in water.
The sun shone in the dark water. Beneath it lay ancient oaks, as if cast from black steel. And above the water, reflected in it with yellow and purple petals, butterflies flew.
Lyalin led us to a deaf road.
“Go straight ahead,” he pointed out, “until you run into msharas, into a dry swamp.” And the path will go along the msharams to the very lake. Just go carefully - there are a lot of pegs.
He said goodbye and left. We went with Vanya along the forest road. The forest grew taller, more mysterious and darker. Gold resin froze in streams on the pines.
At first, the ruts, long overgrown with grass, were still visible, but then they disappeared, and the pink heather covered the whole road with a dry, cheerful carpet.
The road led us to a low cliff. Beneath it lay msharas—dense and root-warmed birch and aspen undergrowth. Trees sprouted from deep moss. Small yellow flowers were scattered here and there over the moss, and dry branches with white lichen were lying about.
A narrow path led through the mshary. She walked around high bumps. At the end of the trail, the water shone with a black blue—Borovoye Lake.
We cautiously walked along the msharams. Pegs, sharp as spears, stuck out from under the moss, the remains of birch and aspen trunks. The lingonberry bushes have begun. One cheek of each berry - the one that turned to the south - was completely red, and the other was just beginning to turn pink. A heavy capercaillie jumped out from behind a hummock and ran into the undergrowth, breaking dry wood.
We went to the lake. Grass rose above the waist along its banks. Water splashed in the roots of old trees. A wild duck jumped out from under the roots and ran across the water with a desperate squeak.
The water in Borovoye was black and clean. Islands of white lilies bloomed on the water and smelled sickly. The fish struck and the lilies swayed.
- That's a blessing! Vanya said. Let's live here until our crackers run out.
I agreed. We stayed at the lake for two days. We saw sunsets and twilight and the tangle of plants that appeared before us in the firelight. We heard the calls of wild geese and the sound of night rain. He did not walk for long, about an hour, and tinkled softly across the lake, as if stretching thin, like cobweb, trembling strings between the black sky and the water.
That's all I wanted to tell. But since then, I will not believe anyone that there are places on our earth that are boring and do not give any food to either the eye, or hearing, or imagination, or human thought.
Only in this way, by exploring some piece of our country, can one understand how good it is and how we are attached in our hearts to each of its paths, springs, and even to the timid squeaking of a forest bird.
